London Week 1

Moving to another country is sort of like drowning.  Your initial reaction is to panic and start thrashing everywhere in wild hope of grasping some line of control.  There are duvet covers to buy and closets to organize and things to plug into things that plug into funny shaped outlets and not nearly enough seconds in a day to catch a breath in between.  But at some point there is sweet surrender.  The thrashing stops and suddenly you realize that, if you breathe slowly, you will float.  Not only are you not dying, but you are just fine.  Turns out the current flows on whether or not you are accomplishing all the things you supposedly absolutely needed to do.  

So, despite the fact that I still don’t have a proper bank account or a proper phone or my own towel or tube of toothpaste, I can still say that I’ve done all the things the universe needed me to do during my first week in London.  Not the least of which is learning to speak British by using words like “proper” in common sentences.  I also incorporate phrases like “lorry load” and “by dint of” when I can.   And, obviously, I say “cheers” at every possible occasion.

I learned that gurchins are pickles and pickle is chutney and a marrow is a giant courgette which is not, by the way, an eggplant.  I have no idea what piccalilli is but it is delicious and something like a chutney spread.  I have no idea what marmite is but it is disgusting and also some sort of spreadable paste.   Jellied eel is not a British term for for another kind of chutney -- it is literally eel that has been jellied.  And it is delicious.

                             

Eel with Vinegar

Aaron and Charlie are females, Sasha and Shannon are males.  
“To Let” is “For Rent”, not to be confused with a public restroom sign that’s missing a letter.

San Francisco Toilet

London To Let

I believe a “stupid cow” (pronounced “shtewpid cow”) is either someone who is still in the crosswalk when the light turns red or potentially another way of saying “blonde American girl carrying a giant box across the street and blocking the way of a cab driver who is in a hurry.”  It was difficult to tell from the context.

I got lost on average 100% of the times I stepped foot out the door, which is pretty impressive for someone with a GPS-enabled device.  I conducted a PhD level research investigation comparing stock, quality and prices of several local grocery marts.  And, even with the little “you’re drowning!” voice in my ear buzzing about emails and hours of sleep, I managed to watch every World Cup game, spectate a cross-country meet, drink at least two dozen different British beers (of which four were actually decent!) and play a little guitar/ukulele.

I’ll get around to the rest eventually...